A Very Detailed Man
by funeral flowers
Summary: When the world crashes in on you, sometimes anything becomes refuge. Sometimes nothing is able to save you. I do not care anymore, and I look for the details, not the absent-minded tapping of the foot attached to my pained body. PG-13 for incest.


Title: A Very Detailed Man

**Rating: **PG-13, incest and sexuality.

Song: 'Be Not Nobody' Vanessa Carlton CD.

Character(s): Ginny Weasley, Remus Lupin; Ron Weasley.

Relationship(s): Ginny/Ron love; Ginny/Remus friendship.

Summary: When the world crashes in on you, sometimes anything becomes refuge. Sometimes nothing is able to save you. I do not care anymore, and I look for the details, not the absent-minded tapping of the foot attached to my pained body. PG-13 for incest, seemingly pedophilia but not quite.

Words: 862

Note: This is going to be confusing, I can tell. It's Ginny's POV, and it's like diary entries in a way, but not strictly. Will waver from past to present tense. Purposely, people. Enjoy, and use Vanessa's CD as background music.

Disclaimer: It isn't mine.

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In his head are thoughts about me. Contained in this room his eyes will stare into mine. He sees me but doesn't _see_ me; his frame contains the photo. His eyes were dark, and his hair was a light brown, speckled with gray. He was always so solemn, especially after Sirius' death. He didn't speak anymore, not much. Not to me at least. We were never close, but locked in a study for six hours constitutes the need for a relationship. I got to know him well; every detail of his life made for six hours. It was quite sad, actually, only a year of my life would take seven. Remus was a very detailed man; he said they were what counted. Details were his way of life. Pressed trousers, shined shoes, what did they matter when you had a personality better than any man whom wore a blazer?

He was a kind man, Remus. I was sixteen when I fell in love with him, and oddly enough he fell in love with me. We took to locking ourselves in studies after then, without our wands like that first time, and he learned every bit of my life in two weeks. By then I knew how it felt, through his words, to suffer from the burdens of Lycanthropy. Through me he could relate to a young, naïve child placing her deep thoughts into a diary. I could not help but wonder if Remus was anything like Tom, I being able to pour my thoughts into him the way I did. Then I reprimanded myself on the thought. I could trust Remus. I could tell him my deep, dark secrets.

Secrets like the love I had for two men. I never told him the names of the men, not until I was sure of it. I did tell him, however, that one was my brother Ronald. At first he seemed disgusted, and I was immediately repentant that I had told him. He understood me completely afterwards, and I was glad. Life was funny that way. In the years I had kept correspondence with Remus we were very close. I could trust him with my life. In a way I did, I had to hide behind him as he clarified my lies and hid my affairs.

The very first time I went to bed with a man was with my brother. I needed the touch of man and we were both desperate and lowly at the time. He said he could show me a good time, and a child of eighteen, I believed him. He did, and I fell in love with him. After that first time I desired for more, and more is what he gave me. We continued to hide our budding love like two children keeping a secret from Mummy dearest. In the very end we married in a very modest, clandestine ceremony, and Remus was Ron's best man. A tight friendship wove around us and the three of us would often converse deep into the night.

When my child was born it was a small child who lived not past four. She was a darling, hair red as anyone's, eyes green. She was brilliant, but died at four years of age, winter taking her in its midst. I remember crying and my brother's face looming above mine, staring at the bed where she lay, comatose. Not a month later my husband and brother had his wrists tied with rope to the wrought-iron headboard, lying in his own blood that soaked the sheets. I despaired not, spoke to Remus, and mourned. My life was then a string of inconsequential trials with no effort required at all.

In the cigar box that belonged to Remus' father that is now in my possession, three pieces of paper lie in my hands. One of the memorial service of a young child. Another of a man who meant more than the world to me; dated twenty years previous of the exact date, the notice of the funeral of Remus John Lupin, a dear friend of mine. Within the sixty or so years in which I last saw Ronald, within the fifty or more in which I've seen any member of my family that I back-stabbed, and within twenty in which my good friend Remus has left me, I have thought.

I have concluded that details are all that matter, and in the six hours I spent re-living the life of another through their words those many years ago I realized that nothing matters anymore. When the world crashes in on you, sometimes anything becomes refuge. Sometimes nothing is able to save you. I do not care anymore, and I look for the details, not the absent-minded tapping of the foot attached to my pained body. One conclusion is that in his head are thoughts about me. Contained in this room his eyes will stare into mine. But the photograph is faded now, ripped and yellowing, quite dull at the ages. Oh, he was a handsome man, but now his eyes see me not. He sees me but doesn't se_e_ me; his frame contains the photo.

Fin.


End file.
